Betrayed

by Kritika Sharma

  “Oh yes, sorry,” he slapped his forehead and chided himself.

  His animated expressions made her realize why he looked so familiar. He reminded her of her brother. It made her smile.

  “What’s your name again?” she demanded curiously.

  “Ravi,” he confirmed. She stared at him for a second, “your full name?”

  “Ravi Mehra,” his confidence made her heart drop. Maybe some expectations are meant to fail.

  “What do you want?” she continued in a distasteful tone.

  “Well, you are so popular – you are one of the top models in India today,” he blurted out something everybody knew. “And you own the biggest NGO in the country.” She nodded at his words. “Yet, everybody calls you a slut!” The last word pinched her; was he deliberately trying to irk her? Did he want her riled up again so that he could sell another story? “Sorry for saying it, but…” he paused at her threatening expressions.

  “I know, continue,” she tried to stay calm but couldn’t avoid the edge that made its appearance in her voice.

  “I don’t believe that you are a slut,” he added quickly. A rather questioning look appeared on Ishana’s face. He knew she doubted his intentions, so he clarified hastily, “I can’t believe that a woman like you, who runs an NGO for abused and harassed girls can be a slut!” His conclusion relaxed her.

  “Thank you for your inference. People who call me a slut often ignore the good side of me; they just portray me in such light because that’s what they want from me. They project their desires, and when I deny fulfilling them, they just slut me!” Ishana smiled and placed a fresh cigarette between her lips. Ravi’s first instinct was to pull out the stick and throw it away, but he resisted.

  Ishana was staring curiously at him; Ravi swallowed nervously and wiped his forehead. He was sweating in December; she considered him for a moment. Somehow she felt pity for him. “What do you want?” she popped the same question again, folding her legs on the chair. Ravi felt mesmerized with the stunning anklet around her left ankle. She raised her eyebrows as she followed his gaze. Ahem! Ishana cleared her throat, and he composed himself.

  “I want to know your story. I want to know how you became what you are today. And why people tag you with such filth.” He was serious. There was a determination on his face.

  “What does it matter to you?” Ishana probed him as she finished her another glass.

  “I will tell you if you tell me your whole story first. I want to tell the world about the real you.” He was hopeful now.

  “You think that you can corner me on a somber day and I will just blurt out my entire history to you?” Her tone was polite, but there was a stern look in her eyes.

  “No, Ma’am, I just…” he started, but she cut him off. “What was your name again?” there was a fierceness in her voice that made him sweat. He wiped his forehead again.

  “Ravi.” This time his name reminded her of something.

  “It’s you who has been hounding me for weeks for an interview?” she demanded, raising her eyebrows.

  He nodded. “A few weeks ago you agreed as well. I just couldn’t find the guts to approach you.”

  “Why didn’t you start with that?” she argued, abashed.

  “What?” He was shocked by the change in her tone.

  “That you are the same stupid man who has been bothering me for weeks. I had been wondering where you disappeared suddenly.” She smiled.

  “So you will tell me what made you today? I really want to tell the world!” he insisted in a begging tone.

  “I don’t care what the world thinks of me, but because you remind me of my little brother and I promised you before, I will tell you my story.” Ishana beamed and pointed at Rumi.

  A sudden hope rose in Ravi, but her next words shattered it in an instant. “Not today though,” she spoke with finality. His face fell. He wanted to ask ‘why,’ but she answered herself, “I am not allowed to speak to media without my PR. You see I often blurt out things that cause undesired headlines,” she sighed and took another puff.

  “I swear I will not post anything without your consent. And to be honest I don’t want some cover story from you, I want your history; I meant it when I said that I want to know your truth,” the intensity in his tone made her feel as if there was something else; some other reason for which he was seeking this. She considered him for a moment, “you want to know my whole history?” she screwed her eyes sardonically. He nodded hastily. “There are patches in my past that nobody can digest,” she continued in a mysterious tone. It made him curious. “I want to know it all,” he insisted.

  “No, you won’t be able to accept,” she dismissed him with a casual wave. He started begging literally. She had no idea how important this was to him.

  After a lot of tantrums, she partially agreed. A victorious look appeared on his face but it disappeared with her next words, “but if you published anything atrocious, believe you me, you will regret that you ever met me.” Her threatening tone and look made him terrified. He reassured her, a lot, that whatever he would reveal to the world will be with her blessings and finally she decided to open up.

  The moment she nodded, he sat alert and pulled out his phone. “Can I take a picture of you first? For the story,” he requested as he turned on the camera. Ishana looked curiously at his iPhone. Though she was a model, she always withdrew from cameras. He looked cute and innocent enough; she agreed. He quickly took a couple and showed her the best one. “If I may, you have the most beautiful eyes,” he complimented genuinely. He was going to save and cherish these pictures forever. She scanned her smiling face, in her stunning orange dress; she looked divine. His compliment made her gaze into her own eyes, and it was a mistake. They say eyes are the reflection of one’s soul; maybe that’s why she saw hollowness in her own. She had lost her soul long ago.

  “Mind if I record the interview?” he spoke, putting his phone next to her, ready to press the ‘record’ button.

  She agreed, solemnly. “To know my story you would need to accompany me to the year 2000. And for that, my friend, I would need a much stronger drink,” she answered as she looked up at Rumi, who was waiting for her next order.

  But before Ishana could order, Ravi spoke, “Two double bourbons, on the rocks.”

  “Neat!” Ishana corrected, and with a heavy, deep breath she closed her eyes and did something she always forbade herself to do. She recalled the worst year of her life.

  When it all began!

  The Blessed Family!

  School Life – Year 2000

  “Didi, go inside, Mumma is going to scold you again.” My brother Rakshit pulled at my sleeves. He was a year younger than me, and I shared a unique bond with him. He was stepping out to play with his friends, and obviously, I wasn’t even allowed to sit in the Sun!

  What’s new? Were the first words that came to my mind, but I chose not to speak them.

  “Just a few more minutes, bro,” I murmured as I carelessly played with my hair. My waist-long hair was almost dry now, but the warm heat of the sun was too comforting, and I didn’t want to step back in our cold house. It was so weird that not a single ray of the sun shone in our house during winters. How on earth was I supposed to dry my thick, long hair if not outside?

  “Are you coming inside or should I inform your father?” My mother’s threatening voice echoed through our house. My father was a much loving and calmer person in comparison to my rowdy mother, but still, he instilled a fear in me. Fathers in our community were figures one should be scared of.

  Sighing, I looked up. He was standing at his window. Dev Shah was my neighbor, crush and sole reason for any smile that flickered on my lips. It was our usual routine - stare at each other and smile whenever eyes met. I flicked my hair and tied it in a neat bun – it was the signal that I was going in. He hung his head, and before my mother could throw something out in my direction, I dashed inside.

  As I stepped in, I heard her muttering her
usual pathetic words, and like always I ignored them. However, despite all my efforts to block her voice, some of her floral words fell on my ears; they were somewhere along the lines of “Now you are in your bloody tenth standard. Instead of studying, all you do is spend time outside. No wonder boys always stray around our house!”

  “There is a bloody coaching class going on next door,” I screamed back. “Boys don’t loiter because of me! They come there to study and prepare for the medical entrance,” I barked unable to accept her rude comments.

  “Don’t use filthy words in this house!” My mother roared, and I just glared in silence. What filthy words? I wanted to yell but decided to let go. Reasoning with her was equivalent to casting pearls to swine, meaning, it was utterly useless. Sometimes I wondered if my attraction for him was the only positive thought in this house.

  “Can I go and study now?” I demanded, rolling my eyes.

  “Only if you want to!” she spoke with sarcasm and dropped a heavy plate with a loud bang. I jumped at the sudden unexpected sound; she relished in the shock that flashed on my face. Anger boiled in my veins, but I controlled it by fisting my fingers. My gesture didn’t miss her shrewd eyes because she continued horridly, “Your excellent grades in ninth standard showed me how well you are studying.” Oh! Always the usual taunt. She didn’t even consider my good marks in the first term of tenth standard. All she had to point and sing about was my marks from ninth. I controlled my temper and walked past her, but she grabbed my arm. “If you score such bad marks again ever, I will get you married to the next man I see,” she threatened. She glowered at me with such fury that it felt as if her eyeballs would drop out of the sockets any second now.

  “I topped in the first term, aren’t you happy about it?” I tried to pull her fingers as tears almost leaked from my eyes. Her grip tightened around my arm, and I almost screamed in pain.

  “But you came second in ninth grade; you never come second. What example will you be setting for your brother? Should he accept that second rank is fine?” She squeezed harder, and I felt my knees give in pain.

  “He is a topper and will always stay so. I will make sure of it,” I responded simply, trying to shake off her hand.

  Smack!

  Whoever said that ‘actions speak louder than words’ was absolutely right! I was immune to her vocal and emotional harassment, but I could never get immunized to her physical abuse.

  The impact of her slap was hard enough to put me on all fours. I fell to the ground, hurting my knees. I looked up at her with a fierce look, I wanted to say so much but her next action erased every drop of rebelism in me, “What are your looking at?” my mother barked and kicked me hard in the stomach, pushing me further in the ground.

  Bending she grabbed my hair and pulled my face up, “You will only take care of your marks; don’t you dare shadow your brother’s career.” The rage in her eyes scared me more than the slap that was still stinging my cheek. I was afraid of what she might do next.

  “Okay,” I bit my lip as I held back my tears.

  “Better; now go and study,” she ordered in a terrorizing tone, and finally I was allowed to leave. I ran to my room and closed the door shut. I was about to lock it when a voice rang through the house, “No locks.” Stifling a huge cry, I sat in my chair and opened my book wondering which body-part should I massage first? Cheek? Scalp? Or guts where she so mercilessly kicked me!

  What a blessed family I have, a mother who is nothing but an insecure abusing monster, a father who is completely oblivious to happenings in his own home and a brother who is too innocent for the world. I hated my life. I looked down at my book; my tears stained it. I quickly wiped them with my hands, not because I was scared of ruining the pages, but because I loved them. Books were my best friends and my confidant. Only they had shared my tears, and only they knew the torture and pain I endured every single day.

  Foreboding Love

  “Hello, Aunty, Namaste, where is Ishana?” Shivani chimed.

  “Hello, beta,” the sweet voice of my mother echoed through the house. Why couldn’t she ever use this tone with me? Would she die if she ever showered her slightest love on me? I cursed her bitterly.

  “She is in her room. Why don’t you go there, but only study okay?” I was still confined to my room when I heard them talk. I envied Shivani for all the love she got. Not just her own mother loved her; even my mother spoke to her in such loving fashion.

  “Can’t promise, Aunty,” she laughed and opened the door of my room. The echoes of my mother’s laughter followed her in. The sound of my mother’s laugh felt so alien to me that a shiver ran down my spine. I jerked off the eerie feeling and looked at Shivani. Dressed in her usual hot-pants and tank top, she sat on my bed. I gaped at her for a moment. She seemed so happy in her life; no tensions creased her thin, long face. Also, no arch-enemies of hers lived inside her home – my arch-enemy was my mother. She was the luckiest person; she could dress the way she wanted, eat what she wanted, and sleep whenever she wanted. She was even allowed to live like a boy – she had military-cut hair and looked nothing less than a tomboy. She also didn’t let anyone call her Shivani; instead, everybody called her Shiva. And to top it all, nobody forced her to score the highest. Last year she hardly scored 70% and her parents were over the moon. I so envied her, but she was my next-door neighbor and best friend. Also, she was my only friend!

  When you are tortured and harassed every day, when you live in constant fear, you don’t attract a lot of friends.

  “What’s up?” she asked as she placed her slim legs on my bed and opened up the biology book.

  “Nothing,” I responded looking back at the book. Like always, she sensed I was upset, so she threw her book away and slid next to me.

  “O-kay,” she smiled and placed her face on my book. She had beautiful brown eyes, and there was a small mole inside her left eye, next to her pupil. This mole made her eyes even more stunning.

  “You guys ogled again today?” she teased me, and I blushed. To her, we were two stupid people who simply didn’t have anything better to do than ‘look’ at each other.

  “I wonder why you are so into him, I find him rather average,” she sighed as she stared out of the window. I shrugged at her response, she continued. “All you have ever done is flirt with him from a distance, I don’t even find him good-looking,” she declared. What she thought of Dev was not my concern, I liked him and that’s all that mattered.

  “I think you both should meet. It’s been so many months since you both are flirting by the window!” Shiva declared and I dropped my pen in shock. Yes, it’s been almost six months now since we first saw each other, but I had no courage in me to meet him face-to-face. Shiva, who was bolder than me, acted as our mediator and helped our case.

  Dev lived on the third floor of the multi-storied building next to my house. And the best part was - my window had the clear view to his. Dev studied in St. Stephen’s and was in tenth too. Shiva and I were in Hari-Shashtri. His father was a big businessman and politician. His mother was a housewife. He enjoyed playing basketball, which owing to his good height was an advantage for him. And he liked to watch TV, a lot. He was the only son. And the way he spent time on his window, flirting with me, I had a feeling that our attraction was mutual.

  “I am scared to meet him, what if he doesn’t like me, you know, up-close?” I sighed, and Shiva gave me a puzzled look. “I mean, what is there to like in me?” I continued as I pointed at myself, “I only wear full-sleeve salwar suits, I have waist-long hair which I am never allowed to let loose in the open, I am quiet and utterly introvert,” I complained, agitated.

  “Seriously?” Shiva rolled her eyes and stared at me incredulously. “Are you this naive?”

  “What?” I was offended.

  “Don’t you see boys lay their hearts for you?” she mocked with animated gestures. I stared wide-eyed. “Oh come on, you think boys are just polite to let you park your cycle closest to the gate? Or are t
hey too generous to bring you food in the canteen or let you have the best instruments in the lab?” she threw some random examples from our every day.

  “They do the same with you too,” I remarked.

  “That’s simply because I am your best friend. They don’t extend this courtesy if you are not around or to any other girl,” she laughed. I stared dumbfounded. The sudden realization of self-importance gave me a subtle pleasure. I smiled.

  “I don’t care what our school boys think, I only wonder why he likes me, I am so boring and simple,” I finished pointing at the window.

  “Yes you are simple and boring, but you are also gorgeous and sexy; your salwar suit gives you a grace and uniqueness that lacks in all other girls like me. Your beautiful, long hair has the luster that draws attention. And it is your quiet and introvert nature that flatters everybody else,” she finished, beaming, and I just gawked open-mouthed.

  “What is wrong with you?” Her words of compliments were laced with flattery and it was so unlike her.

  “To be honest, these are not my words. I borrowed your boyfriend’s sentiments,” she giggled. I didn’t like the word boyfriend; it sounded like a filthy relationship.

  “You are so lucky you get to talk to him now and then, I don’t think I can even dare that!” I sighed and hung my head. Shiva rolled her eyes dramatically. To her, talking to Dev or any other boy was not lucky. She was one of those cool girls who didn’t think twice before doing anything. She just did what her heart desired.

  “I have a foreboding feeling about him, Ishana. He is not the right guy for you.” My heart sank at her ominous prediction. I looked down at my palms, and something there gave me strength.

  My expressions must be funny because she was staring at me confusedly. At this, I held up my palm and showed her my hand.

  “Don’t you see? We are destined to be together.” I pointed at my hand.